“Of course, honey,” he says before taking a sip of wine. “I’m very proud.”
I didn’t think Elias was even listening to the conversation. He’s carefully cutting into a piece of meat like he’s afraid to scratch the pattern on the china when he speaks. His voice is powerful, his accent a delightful change from the usual voices around this table.
“Did you know Ben is in the ITA top 20? That’s out of every college tennis player in the country.”
My chest swells with pride but I push it down, waiting for my dad’s reaction. Before he can say anything, Mason Mathews replies first.
“I saw Ben play last year. He’s extremely talented. Do you play, Elias?”
“Yes. I plan to go out on the pro tour next year.”
“Impressive,” Mason nods as he cuts into his veal.
I settle back while Elias and Mason chat about tennis, only joining in when the conversation is directed toward me. Both of them draw me in now and then, asking my opinion on who’ll win the US Open this year and whether Novak Djokovic is nearing retirement, or if he’ll find a second wind like he always does.
By the time dinner is over, I don’t feel anywhere near as crappy as I usually do after these gatherings.
Dad invites Mason into his office to smoke a cigar and Mom goes into the movie room to watch some TV while Anna clears the plates away. Elias looks like he’s going to try and help but then seems to remember what I told him about Anna taking it as an insult to her work.
“Well, I guess we should get an early night,” Elias says, yawning.
“Do you want to see my room?” I just blurt it out. I’m not sure why. I only know that I’m grateful for him saving me like that at the dinner table and I want to extend a hand of … what? I’m not too sure. Gratitude?
He shrugs. “Okay.”
I lead him up the winding staircase to the second floor where my bedroom is. I don’t glance behind me. I don’t want to see the look on Elias’ face as he takes in the dreary portraits done by old, respected portrait artists. I especially don’t want him to look at the one that makes me look like a sack of potatoes.
My room hasn’t changed at all, though I’m sure Anna’s been in to dust.
The same vintage maps hang on every wall. Same completed LEGO sets displayed on shelves. My prized Millennium Falcon in a display case above the desk. My face flushes at the sight of it all. The truth of my existence—lonely, nerdy virgin.
The instinct to shrink in on myself as I watch Elias walk around, looking at everything, is strong.
He pauses before the Millennium Falcon, hands in his pockets. “This isStar Wars, right?”
I nod.
“You made this?”
“Well, I assembled it, yeah.”
“Cool.”
My face flushes and I look away.
“Your dad’s a dick, by the way.”
Elias still wears that casual expression while I’m sure my face is frozen in a state of shock. No one has ever said a bad word about my father, at least, not in my presence.
“Sorry, but it’s true.”
He takes a seat on my bed, pulling his hands out of his pockets and studying me.
“You shouldn’t let what he says get to you. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“My dad is very successful, he?—”
“So what? Is he successful at whatyouwant to do?”
